From Darkness
by IndigoUmbrella
Summary: When did we lose our way? Consumed by the shadows Swallowed whole by the darkness Does this darkness have a name? Is it your name? -Disclaimer: This story is a sequel. Summary quote from One Tree Hill.
1. Chapter 1

First Story: s/10362424/1/Monster

Second Story: s/11827750/1/Hell-Bound

* * *

The first thing I heard was the sound of boots tapping against the cement floor. The steps were even, and it was obviously more than one pair. The pain hit second. It started in my shoulder and worked its way through my arm so that even the fingers of my left hand were throbbing. The arm was draped over the back of someone's shoulder, and it took a moment for me to find the other one, painless, but wrapped around shoulders on my other side.

My feet were harder to find. My legs felt numb and cold, and I couldn't control them. My chin rested against my chest, and I struggled to lift my head to figure out where I was. One, two. Three, four. I felt my feet, dragging along on the cement, bare and burning as they carried me through the hallway.

I was in a hallway that stank like must and stagnant water. There was a dampness in the air that exacerbated the chill and made it burn. The scent of rust hit my nose, and I recoiled from the familiarity. I knew where I was. I knew where they were taking me. I twisted my fingers and tried to get free.

"No," I said. It was the only word that managed to make its way out of the darkness.

I tried to fight to get away, but I was too weak from cold and hunger. All I could do was squirm until they stopped me. Someone moved forward and opened the bars of my cell. I could hear the squeak of old rusted metal as the gate swung open.

They shoved me into the darkness, and I hadn't regained my footing. I hit the cement and scrapped my chin when my mangled arm failed to catch me on time. I could hear the gate squeak closed again and they said nothing. I listened to the sound of their boots fading down the hallway. I tried to push myself up and found the position that was always the most comfortable to me. Even there on the hard cement floor in the freezing cold. I lifted my knees and tucked my arms between them. Then I rested my head and shivered.

The blood oozed hot and metallic out of the wounds on my shoulder. I could feel it sliding down my arm and pooling at the crook of my elbow. I wanted to move to clean it off. I wanted to wrap something around the shredded mess of skin and muscle before I bled to death, but I couldn't get myself to move. I didn't care if I died there. I didn't care if they won. I just wanted the pain to stop. I wanted to get out of the darkness.

I heard the shift of fabric, and that was all that alerted me to the fact that I wasn't alone. Like he'd been standing there all along, and I just didn't notice him until he shifted.

"Why are you here?" I asked with chattering teeth. He took a long time to answer, and there was a brief moment where I wondered if I was talking to shadows. But then I heard him shift again. A boot hit the floor quietly as he adjusted his feet.

"They asked me to watch you," he said. His voice was low so that it was barely louder than a whisper. I wouldn't have made it out over the sound of my own chattering teeth if the cells weren't so silent already.

"Why?"

"I could hear you screaming—from down the hall."

"How unfortunate for you. To have to deal with that," I replied dryly. "That still doesn't explain why you're here."

I lifted my head as he approached my cell. His boots tapped along, so quiet they didn't echo, but audible in the otherwise silent cavern. He was carrying something in his hands, but it was too dark to see what it was. All I could make out was the metallic glint on his arm as the metal reflected the single light from down the hall.

"You looked cold," he told me as he slipped the object through the bars. He nudged it toward me with the tip of his boot, and I could feel the rough, scratchy fabric touch my toes.

I reached for it like a starved man being offered food. He walked away as I unwrapped the blanket. I didn't thank him. I wouldn't. And I wasn't sure why he was giving me a blanket except that they must have ordered him to. I'd figured out fairly early that he only talked to me when they ordered him to. He did what they told him to do. And nothing more.

The blanket unrolled and permeated the air with the scent of dust. My fingers brushed against something he'd wrapped inside. Something hard and sharp that I was confident they wouldn't have wanted me to get my hands on. I wrapped my fingers around the hilt and looked back out into the darkness. If he was still there, I couldn't see or hear him. They may have ordered him to bring me the blanket, but I don't think they wanted him to slip me the knife

* * *

I have... a sequel. *Gross sobbing*

This story tried to kill me. But I prevailed.

I'm not going to say much. Just that I hope you guys like it. I'm really nervous but I'm trying not to be so hard on myself anymore.

Also, there probably aren't going to be as many flashback chapters this time around. Unless there's something I feel needs to be made clearer. Since the last two chapters had flashbacks that were (usually) unreliable and false, this one will (hopefully) clear those up. This is, yes, a flashback chapter/prologue. But the story will get underway in the next chapter. I usually update on Tuesdays when I'm not as busy. But it depends.

I hope you guys like it. :)


	2. Chapter 2

"What did you do with the knife, Johanna?" the voice asked me. My attention broke, and I blinked as I tried to focus on the woman before me. She stood leaning against her desk. Lean and tall and pale. I blinked a few more times. I couldn't remember getting there. I couldn't remember what I'd done last, but I definitely didn't remember walking up to my therapist's office.

I looked around the room in confusion, but she observed me. My fingers were tight around the paper cup full of water in my hand. It was easier to focus on that than the office. I was in the Triskelion. I was supposed to be working. Not having a session with my therapist.

"Um…" I started.

"You were telling me about the man with the metal arm," she reminded me. "That he gave you a knife. What did you do with it?" I shook my head as I tried to grasp the memory. I couldn't get a hold of it. As if something dark and clouded had surrounded it like a veil. I could remember the shimmer of metal in the darkness, the scent of rust, and the feel of that thick heavy blade in my hand right before I swung it.

"I killed them," I admitted. "I think."

"Who did you kill?"

"Two—guards. They called themselves my—handlers." I looked back up, and she nodded slowly.

"Drink your water, Johanna," she instructed.

"I think your filter is broken. Water tastes funny."

"I'll make a note of it." She waited for me to take a sip and then she set down her notebook on her desk.

She had a nervous tick. One I'd only caught every so often before I forgot about it. She wore a ring on her finger that clicked when she spun the band. She did it in a repeating pattern. Click, click. Click, click. One, two. Three, four.

"There was no man with a metal arm, Johanna," she said in her soothing voice. My attention turned from the ring to her eyes.

"What?" I asked.

"There was no man with a metal arm. No one gave you a knife tucked in a blanket. You were never with HYDRA. Because they don't exist. False memories. That's what we call them."

"But I remember."

"Do you?" she questioned. Her perfectly arched eyebrow rose, and I turned away again. My eyes went right to the ring. Click, click. Click, click. I blinked. "I asked you a question, Johanna."

"What?"

"What do you remember?" I tried to think. But the only things my mind supplied were blips of facts. The water tasted weird. I wasn't supposed to be in the office. I had to go back to work. I was wasting company time.

"I have a project I have to finish. I must have forgotten," I explained. She smiled.

"Of course. I'll let you get back to work." She pushed herself off of the desk and moved around it. "I'll have Agent Harman escort you to your office." I jumped to my feet, and the cup of water slipped from my hands and splashed on the couch.

"No, not him," I'd said. She gazed at me again in that unnerving stare that always unsettled me, but I could never figure out why.

"Why not?" she asked as she took a seat and twisted the band on her ring, filling my ears with that annoying clicking pattern.

"I uh…"

"You've had a rough day, Johanna," she said. "Didn't get much sleep last night. Nightmares, remember? You told me you saw the man who shot you. But you couldn't recall his face." I nodded slowly.

"Right. I'll just—go."

"Have a good day, Johanna."

I stumbled toward the door, but my feet felt sloppy and uneven. Oscar got the door open before I reached it. I tried to push passed him, but he gripped my elbow and dragged me down the hall to the elevator.

"Didn't get much sleep last night, huh?" he asked.

My eyes narrowed as I tried to remember why I was mad at him. I was pretty sure we'd had an argument about laundry. He was always leaving his dirty laundry at my house. He pulled me into the elevator and sent it down to my floor. I leaned against the rails and looked out of the glass at the second building across the way. The sun was bright and shimmered off the surface of the Potomac, blinding me and making my attention drift.

Metal in a darkened hallway. The scent of rust.

No—I could smell blood. I could feel it dried in my nose and stuck to my face. I was on the floor of the elevator. No—the floor of a truck. I could still feel the engine humming beneath the surface.

The elevator doors opened with a loud metallic crunch. The air that rushed in felt like a wall of ice, carrying in the scent of gasoline. The light was too bright, and I tried to move away from it, but I was lying flat on my stomach, and my hands were bound behind my back.

"Johanna?" a voice said, cautiously and quietly. I could feel the surface beneath me shift as they walked across the platform.

I wasn't in an elevator. I wasn't in DC.

"It takes a lot out of her," another voice said from far off. "She has a hard time recovering. The higher the number of targets, the harder it is for her to bounce back."

A shadow crossed the opposite wall, and I realized my eyes were opened. I couldn't make out the figure. My head felt like it was split down the middle. The cold air burned on my bare arms and legs. My hands twisted behind my back and my palms stung. The shadow knelt on the other side of me. Fingers slid over my skin to move my sticky hair out of my face.

"Her eyes are open," the voice said.

"Good. Then she might be able to walk. Just don't expect her to be who you want her to be."

"What do you mean?"

"There was a girl. She could do things. Put things in your head. Make you see things that weren't real. The last time we spoke—I don't even think she knew who I was."

"She has bandages on her hands," the other said from where he knelt at my side. "And her feet."

"Broken glass," the other explained. "She tried to get out."

I felt pressure on my wrists as he yanked the cuffs apart. The chain between them snapped like twine, and my arms dropped to my sides. I couldn't get them to respond correctly. My palms burned, and my arms felt like cooked noodles. I felt twitchy and weak like someone who hasn't eaten in days. The blood had dried inside my nose and made it difficult to breathe.

"How did you know they were transferring her?" the voice beside me asked.

"The girl? She had a brother. Twins. They had their own agenda. They have it out for Stark. Wanted to make sure they got to him first. They let it slip."

"How'd you get the signal out?"

"They kept me in a storage cell. Full of outdated equipment." The man wrapped his hand around my forearm and tried to yank me up. He got me to my knees, but I swayed back. He held onto my shoulder so I could try to find my balance. My body was too weak, and I couldn't keep my head up.

"You don't think that sounds like a setup?" he was asking. He lifted me to my feet and held me steady just in case my knees gave out. They almost did.

"I wouldn't be surprised. But I don't think they meant for this to happen. She must have been scared."

"Why were they transferring her?"

"Look around you, Barnes. Quarantine."

"Is she dangerous?"

He got me turned around without falling, and I could finally make out the man at the end of the truck. He held his arms out so that I could stumble into them and he could get me onto the ground. The dirt felt cold and frozen, and my feet were bare except for the bandages wrapped around them. Broken glass, he said. I couldn't remember any broken glass.

"The girl put things in her head," he explained as he held me up and the other one jumped off of the truck. "They wanted her to be afraid of you. But you weren't the target. The Avengers are the goal. You're just a minor inconvenience."

"So we keep her away from the Avengers. Where do we take her?"

"Right now we just need to get as far away as possible. I don't know how it works or how far it'll have spread. But I would be surprised if they didn't have scouts trailing behind. They'll take her down first, but they won't kill her."

My feet kept slipping on the ice and snow. I wasn't asking them to move, but the men pulled me forward, and my feet followed along without instruction. There was a dark haze in my mind like a shadowy veil. Their voices were familiar, their conversation sounded important, but I couldn't focus and I couldn't remember. The pain was too sharp. The haze was too thick.

"You're sick," said the man on the left.

"I'm just tired. We didn't exactly get the gold-star treatment," replied the one on my right.

"We'll move quickly. Will you make it to the road?"

"I'll get as far as I can. Just make sure she gets out of here. We'll worry about me later."

The man on the left stopped. He released me so that the one on the right had to hold me up. His arms felt thin and boney. His hands trembled from my weight.

"Warm yourself up," the other one instructed as he held out a jacket.

"Give it to her. She's probably freezing."

"I'll carry her. Just take it."

The man on the left pulled me back. His arms and chest were more solid and stable. I fell against his chest and felt his hand move over the back of my head in an affectionate gesture. The fabric of his shirt scratched my face. It felt familiar. The heartbeat sounded calm and real in my ear. There was a holster strapped to his ribs that my fingers slid over as I tried to hold myself up on my own. My hand moved over the metal of the weapon under his arm. But he either didn't feel it, or he was distracted. Or maybe he just didn't view me as a threat.

Until I snapped off the safety and shoved him back. My arms were weak and shook as I tried to hold the weapon up. I swayed as I sought to catch my balance and stared at him through my messy blood caked hair. I pointed the barrel between his sharp blue eyes and he lifted both hands and took a step back. I couldn't think straight, and the pain in my skull was blinding. I didn't know if I'd be able to keep standing if I tried to move. But I knew enough to know that he was putting distance between us so he could grab the gun and I knew I wouldn't be strong enough to fight him without it.

"Jo," he said cautiously.

"I saw what you did," I whispered. My voice wobbled, and my throat felt dry and rough. I wasn't even sure of what I was saying. My thoughts didn't make any sense. Whatever memory that had slipped out of the darkness and forced the words out of my mouth had slid away again. It only lasted long enough to set off alarms.

"What did I do?" he asked.

I was starting to make sense of his face now. His hair was brown, and it hung loose and free around his face. It hung over his eyes, which were shockingly vibrant against the gray sky and the dark trees. Facial hair had shadowed his chin and jaw, and he looked tired.

The memory resurfaced. Images of his face as he held a woman down and stabbed her in the stomach. The woman was important to me. I didn't know who she was, just that I couldn't let him hurt her again.

"I saw you kill her," I explained before the memory could slip into the darkness again.

"Jo," the other man said.

He placed a careful hand on my shoulder, and I suddenly remembered he was there. I jumped and turned around to face him, my feet threw off my balance, and I almost slipped. But his face felt familiar too. A full beard the color of coal with speckles of silver. Eyes just as dark. But a face that had turned hollow and weary. He didn't set off any alarms. A few thoughts slipped out of the darkness. Friend. Leader. Father.

"Give me the gun. We're being tracked," the other one said as he reached across me to take it from my hands. But I resisted. It was my only weapon, and I couldn't risk being unarmed. I swung my elbow back and used whatever strength I had left to fight him off. I felt my bone crack against his teeth.

"Give him the gun, Jo. He's not going to hurt you," the other said. He gripped my shoulders hard enough to make my feet slip on the icy ground.

I heard the blast, and for a moment I thought it had come from the gun in my hand. But my finger hadn't been on the trigger. And the pain in my back struck with a hard enough force to jostle me forward. I hit the man in front of me as he tried to hold me up and this time the second blast had definitely come from my own hands. I felt the gun shake all through my arms and into my pounding skull.

The man staggered back, forcing me to have to hold myself up. My blood felt hot as it spread through my back and into my limbs. His hands moved over his stomach, and I could see the blood spread out through his fingers. Something inside the darkness in my mind was screaming. Memory or thought or fear, I wasn't sure. But it was loud, and my head felt dizzy and confused.

The gun was ripped from my hand before I could drop it. My knees buckled and the other man grabbed me by the waist before I could fall. He lifted the gun and shot. This time the blast felt like it was being drilled right into my skull. I flinched and my eyes closed, but he held me up until my legs gave out for good.

* * *

This chapter is the number one reason why I took so long to write this story. I could NOT get it figured out. Jo was always meant to be very confused and not all aware of what was happening at first and let me tell you. It is HELL trying to write that from first person while still making it coherent enough to make sense.

Also, I meant to add that flashback to the one from the last chapter. But I thought it would suit better as a transition here to hopefully emphasize her confusion.

And I promise she will not be out of it through the whole story. She just has to walk it off. I'M TALKING TOO MUCH I'M SO NERVOUS.


	3. Chapter 3

There weren't any dreams. There was nothing but darkness. But it wasn't a blank empty darkness. It was a living moving thing that seemed to stretch and think on its own. The moment I realized it was alive, I woke up.

I woke to the sound of garbled voices. Like a language I didn't understand being spoken through water. No, it wasn't water. It was a radio. I could feel the gentle rock of a vehicle and hear the engine humming as we moved. The seat had been pulled back, so that was leaning. My feet were still bare and sore, but warming beneath a heater. Every time the car moved, I was jerked to the side and held back by the seatbelt around my waist.

I groaned as the darkness faded and I tried to make sense of where I was and what was happening. My head was still searing with pain, but my stomach now felt sick and nauseous. The haze made it difficult to pry my heavy eyelids open. When I did, I saw nothing but trees briefly illuminated by headlights as we passed.

I got my head to move and turned toward the man behind the wheel. He was concentrating on the road as he pushed the car to its limit. He had a handheld radio on the dashboard as he listened to the sound of conversations over the airwaves. He seemed to be making sense of them.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked.

He finally seemed to notice me. He shot me a glance and looked mildly surprised before he turned back to the road. The sun was long gone, and all I could see was the road and quickly moving trees.

"Someplace safe," he told me. I tried to sit up and shake off the dizziness, but my stomach rolled, and I only managed to flop against the door. My hands moved for the door handle.

"Let me out," I whispered.

"What?"

"I said let me out. Stop the car. I need to get out."

"I can't stop the car. Not here. They're looking for us."

I pulled uselessly at the handle, but it wouldn't budge. So I fumbled in the dark and felt for the lock. But he'd been expecting that. By the time I went to open the door again, he'd flipped the switch on the other side. The lock clicked back into place.

"He's going to bleed out if we don't get him somewhere safe, Jo," he told me.

I spun back around. I hadn't even noticed the body in the back seat. The man had his legs up so that he could lie across the bench. His hands were draped over his stomach where a jacket had been tied tightly around his waist. I couldn't make out the color, but it was already soaked through with blood.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You don't remember?"

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything."

My heart was racing, and my stomach still felt sick. I had to get out. I had to get away. I had to throw up. So I put my hands on his shoulders and shoved him as hard as I could. He hit the door on the other side with a solid thump and the car swerved again.

"What are you doing?" he snapped as he pushed me back with one hand.

"Let me out!"

"Where are you gonna go? The woods?"

"I'm gonna throw up!"

He finally listened. The car slowed, and when I turned back around to unlock it, he didn't try to stop me. I yanked my seatbelt off and jumped out before we even came to a complete halt. I made it to the bank on the side of the road when the dizziness overwhelmed me. I couldn't stay upright, and I knelt with my hands on my knees just to stop myself from falling over. I heaved, but my stomach was empty.

I could hear the door open behind me. I could hear the shift of his clothes and the tap of his boots on the cement. He was at my side a moment later, patting my back as I leaned over and gripped my knees.

"It's the tranquilizer dart," he told me. "They make you sick."

"You shot him," I replied.

"I didn't."

The panic was still coursing through my body. My mind was still dizzy and hazy. All I knew was that bad things happened when I wasn't in control, and I had to take control. It was winter, so the trees alongside the road had shed branches and leaves that were buried under a dusting of snow. There was a branch not far from me, and I reached for it without thinking. I swung back and felt the branch connect with the side of his head. He hit the ground and lifted his arms to block my next strike.

There was something inside of me telling me to stop. But I had to do it. I had people to protect, and I couldn't trust my gut to guide me anymore. I had to do what was right. So I pressed the tip of the branch against his chest and forced him back onto the road before he could get up.

"It's me," he was saying as I lifted the branch up above my head again. "It's Bucky. You know me. You know I won't hurt you."

I brought the branch back down, and he jumped out of the way before it could touch him. It struck the cement just inches from his face. I could feel it crack against the pavement, sending a shock of pain through my bandaged hands.

"Jo," he continued. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm trying to help you."

"You're a liar," I replied, twisting the branch in my hand so that the sharp broken end pointed downward. I lifted it above my head again and brought it back down with all my weight. It narrowly missed his head. The end of the branch snapped against the ground.

"Jo, listen to me," he said when I lifted it again. "I understand if you're afraid of me. I don't blame you, but you need to trust me. At least for now. Until the both of you are safe."

"You think I don't know who you are," I realized. I lifted the branch again. It was starting to fall apart now, but still thick enough to cause damage if I really wanted to. I swung again, but this time he lifted his hand to block it. The branch slammed into his outstretch hand and sent a shock through my arms. His fingers wrapped around the wood and I paused to breathe. This didn't feel right. "Let it go," I demanded.

"You know who I am?" he asked.

It was so dark out it was nearly pitch black except for the lights from the car. I could see him lying on the road beneath me, not looking the least bit threatened by me and my stick. There was a scrape on his chin from where I'd first hit him. Even in the night, I could make out the color of his eyes and the blood beaded on his jaw. He didn't seem so terrifying this time. Maybe she was losing her touch.

"Of course I know who you are," I admitted as I slid the branch out of his fingers and lifted it over my head again. "I'm not like you. They wanted me to remember everything." I swung, and he barely moved out of the way before the branch splintered against the cement beside his left ear. "My friend," I said, swinging again. "He had a family. Twins. Two boys. You shot him in the head." I swung, and he dodged it. "The other. He was going to propose to his girlfriend. He asked me to help him pick out the ring. You shot him in the throat." I swung again, but he managed to dodge it.

"And Jimenez?" I continued. "He was going to take me on a date." I stood back, breathing hard. I felt dizzy again. Breathing wasn't easy. My arms were getting weaker. "I saw my mother," I told him. "My real mother. What was left of her when they brought her in. Do you know what that's like? When the only memory of your mother is the image of chunks of flesh and blood and bone? That was you."

I lifted to swing again, but he moved his other hand and placed it on my thigh just above my knee. He wasn't wearing a glove on that hand, so his skin was shockingly warm against mine. My legs were bare from the thigh down. I froze and couldn't bring myself to take another shot. I could remember when he touched me just like that. When he wasn't in my head every minute of every day. Killing every single person that I loved. When he wasn't a monster in my nightmares.

"If you remember all that—then you know I won't fight you," he said.

The panic was starting to fade now. There were some things that she'd just never got right. She could make you believe you were feeling things and seeing things, but there was always something off. The color of the eyes wasn't sharp enough. His skin wasn't warm enough. It usually didn't take very long before he started ripping everyone apart.

He dropped his hand, letting his fingers slide over my knee before it rested on the pavement at his side. He was showing me that he wasn't going to fight anymore. He was going to let me kill him if that's what I wanted to do. That wasn't right either. He'd never done that before.

I transferred the branch to my right hand and held it at my side. He was making this too easy, and for a moment, I doubted it. Maybe he was telling the truth this time. Maybe he really was just trying to help us.

Maybe this was real.

"You promised me," I reminded him. "I remember."

"You said it yourself," he replied. "I lied."

I swung again, but this time I came from the side like a golf club. The branch hit him just above his temple, hard enough to jerk his whole body onto his side. Then he laid there motionless as darkness seeped out from his hair like blood.

He looked helpless. I could kill him if I really wanted to. I knew it was what they wanted me to do. They asked her every time. Wanted to know if I'd finally done it. If I was ready. And every single time, the answer was no. And it just got worse and worse.

Maybe she wasn't losing her touch at all. Maybe she was getting better.

The memory of his hand still lingered on my skin. I remembered when he'd touched me like that before. Not with his hands. With his lips. I didn't know if she was just making me remember it, or if it was real. But I could feel it churning inside me again. Hope. And something else. Something stronger. Even if killing him to could spare me from having to do this again and again—I couldn't command my hands to do it.

I tossed the branch to the side. I didn't know how long it would be before someone drove down that road. There were no signs or painted lines. I didn't even know where we were. I'd never been so confused in one of her dreams. She usually supplied the answer for every question, and I accepted it without fail. But it didn't feel right this time. It was too cold. Everything hurt too much. In the off chance that it was real, I had to make sure no one drove over him if they happened to come this way.

So I lifted his arm and ran my hands over it. Even though he was wearing a glove and a long sleeved shirt, I could feel the solid and smoothness of metal beneath the fabric. It was heavy, and so was he, but I gripped the arm and pulled.

I barely manage to drag him to the edge of the road before I ran out of strength to continue. I left him there and stumbled back to the car. I didn't know where I'd go or if I could even drive like this. But I had to put as much distance between us as I could before he could hurt anyone. But first, I squeezed myself into the backseat to check on the man who was still lying there, pale and deathly. His eyes stayed shut as I held his face between my hands. He looked so hollow and worn. Like he hadn't eaten in a long time. He hadn't shaved. He already looked dead even though his skin was warm.

I remembered him talking to me in the dark. He used to say the same things over and over again. "It's not real, Jo. It's not real." And then I remembered the feel of my finger slipping over the trigger of a gun. The moment my heart jumped and the way his face looked when he realized what had happened. It was me. I did it.

One of his eyes opened just slightly and a smile hinted at his lips.

"I'm alright, kid," he murmured.

"I'm so sorry," I told him. I wanted to cry. This wasn't how she normally did things. It was my job to protect them. Not to kill them.

"You didn't mean it," he assured me. "It's alright. I'll be fine."

"I'll get you someplace safe. I promise."

"We're headed to Belarus. I know some people there."

"We?"

"Barnes. I gave him directions." He shut his eyes again, and I glanced out through the door to where I'd left him on the side of the road. But I couldn't make out the form of his body in the darkness.

My heart leaped, but he was quicker than I was. The car jerked and my arm was yanked back. He had my wrist secured to the handle above the window in a flash. I felt the snap of a cuff and then I couldn't move.

"We need to talk," he said as he leaned in through the space between the two front seats. My wrist was stuck to the handle, and I had my back to him. I pulled uselessly at my arm, but he'd secured it tight enough so that I couldn't squeeze my arm free.

"I can't talk. I have to stop you," I said.

"What do you think I'm going to do?"

"You're going to kill them. Like always."

"Who?" I shook my head and continued to try and pry my wrist free.

"My family."

"What do you mean, like always?"

"It's what you do. You kill people."

"I don't do that anymore."

"You will. That's what you were made for. They can make you do whatever they want. They'll regain control. One way or another." He climbed back out of the car, and I stopped pulling on my arm. He appeared in the open doorway at my side and peered in as he leaned against the door. Blood had dripped down his face now, but he still didn't look as terrifying as she usually made him out to be. He looked like he was as tired of this as I was.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he told me. "I understand if you don't want to see me ever again. But I promised to come back for you. Do you remember that?" I shook my head.

"I don't—I don't know."

"Well, I did. And I'm going to keep that promise. But you're not going to get very far on your own. Let me get you to a safe place, and then we'll talk about it. Can you do that for me?" I didn't think I had a choice. Until I could get free, I was stuck with him. So I nodded slowly. He shut the door and came back around to the driver's side. I felt the car move as he climbed inside and turned the engine over.

"Get some rest," he told me with a much softer tone.

"Hurts," I told him.

"What does?" I took a deep breath and adjusted my position so that my legs wouldn't cramp.

"Everything."

"I'll let you go when I know you're not going to try and bash my head in again."

"I won't."

He didn't say anything. He just reached over to pull the seat up so that I'd have more room and wouldn't be pinched between the seats. Then he got the car moving again and I rested my head against my outstretched arm. The man in front of me sighed loudly.

"Jo," he whispered, though he didn't open his eyes. I didn't answer, but I reached out to pat his arm and let him know I was there. "You know who I am?"

"Of course I know who you are," I told him. Then he smiled quickly.

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Mm?"

"Is this real?" He was silent for a long moment before his eyes managed to open. He looked around the car before focusing on me next to him. But he didn't smile. He didn't even try.

"It's real, Jo," he told me. "Don't try to bash his head in. You'll regret it." Then he shut his eyes again.

* * *

Hopefully more coherent this time. Jo is still very confused, but starting to focus better.

Also, I still have the urge to rewrite this entire series from 3rd person. I have a feeling it would make these chapters a lot easier to understand. D:


	4. Chapter 4

I woke when someone grabbed me by the shoulder. I immediately swung my arms to fight them off, but one of them was stuck above my head, and the other only flailed against the back of a seat.

"Hey, easy," a voice said. "I'm just giving you some water."

I blinked a few times before the haziness faded. I was in the back of a car, stuck between the front seat and the back seat. My legs were cramped, and my arm had gone numb. A man was lying across the backseat and the other leaning between the ones in the front. I turned to him.

"I'm still here," I said. His eyebrows rose. I knew that expression and that face.

"Where did you expect to be?" he asked.

"Back—in my cell."

"Is that where they took you when they were done?"

"Sometimes." He took a deep breath and let it go.

"You're not going back there. Ever." He paused and then turned toward the front. "You're dehydrated and malnourished." He reached into the seat behind me and procured a water bottle. I tried to grab it, but he kept it out of my reach. "You have to take it slow." He poured some into the cap and handed it out to me. I took it, but my fingers were shaking so badly that most of it spilled out onto my hand. I sipped it anyway.

"I might be able to do this better with two hands," I remarked.

"Last time you had both your hands you tried to beat me to death with a stick," he quipped.

"I wasn't trying to kill you. I just wanted to knock you out."

"Why?"

"So I could get away." I handed the cap back and waited for him to give me more water. He didn't.

"I'll let you go if you promise not to try and knock me out again."

"I won't. I promise."

He reached above me and unlocked the cuff from around my wrist. He didn't seem worried about it anymore. Or at least he knew to be vigilant. I wasn't going to fight him again anyway. I didn't have the strength to this time, and my mind was slowly starting to process things a little better.

He took my arm and helped me climb into the front seat at his side. I leaned against it and shut my eyes. My stomach wasn't queasy anymore, but my head still hurt, and my arms felt weak and wobbly.

"How long has it been since they gave you water?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"You haven't eaten in a while either. You don't look too good. And you couldn't bring anything up when the tranquilizers made you sick." I felt him tap my arm and I opened my eyes to see him handing out the cap with more water. Once I had it in my hands, he reached for something in the backpack at my feet.

"Tranquilizers?" I asked. "What tranquilizers?"

"Couple of scouts. Following after your caravan. Hit you first. Missed me. Didn't get the chance to take another shot."

"What did you do to them?"

"I shot them, Jo. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I thought you said you don't do that anymore."

"I thought you couldn't remember."

"Getting easier," I said as I sipped on the water. He pulled something out of his backpack that looked like a protein bar. I watched as he opened it and broke off a piece.

"Do you remember the last time they fed you?" he asked as he handed it out. I took it in my shaking fingers but didn't eat it. I just dropped my head back again. I was still exhausted enough to sleep.

"No," I admitted.

"It might not go down easy." He poured another capful while I tried to choke down the chalky piece of food.

"Where are we?" I asked him.

"Belarus."

"How did we get to Belarus?" He handed the cap back out.

"I drove us."

"How long have I been out?"

"Since you hit me on the head or since you got shot with a dart?"

"Dart."

"It's been a while. Russell has been in and out. More than you have."

"Russell—He doesn't like when I call him that."

"You remember?" I nodded slowly and sipped on the water.

"They let him talk to me sometimes," I told him.

"What'd he say?" I chewed on my lip and hesitated. "You don't have to tell me. I'm just trying to understand what the hell happened to you in there, and neither of you has been very helpful."

"Do you think he's going to be okay?" I asked him. He was leaning against the steering wheel now, watching me and waiting to hand out more water when I asked for it. He seemed pretty confident that I wasn't going to get violent again.

"I don't know. That was your job, not mine." I handed the cap back out, but he didn't fill it again. He twisted it back on the bottle and tossed it into the backpack. "I'll give you more in fifteen to twenty minutes. If you can keep it down." He turned back around and adjusted the gearshift to put the car back on the road. "Put your seatbelt on," he instructed. I didn't move.

"Bucky," I said. I could see him pause from the corner of my eye. He didn't respond right away. He kept his hands on the wheel for a moment before turning to me.

"Yes?"

"This feels different."

"What do you mean?"

"It feels real this time. I don't remember it hurting this much."

He sighed audibly. I could see his shoulders hunch as if he was tired. But then he pulled the emergency brake and turned back to me. He reached over my shoulder for the seatbelt and yanked it around me. Once it was snapped into place he took the hand I'd left resting on my thigh. He pressed my palm flat against his chest. I could feel his heart beating in a steady rhythm. I shut my eyes again.

"That's because it is real," he told me.

"I didn't—I didn't want to."

"To what?"

"To hurt you."

"Then why did you?"

"They made me see things. It was different every time but—the objective was always the same."

"What was it?"

"They made me watch you kill everyone. And the only way I could stop it—is if I killed you first."

"Did you?" I lifted my other hand and rubbed my eyes. The memories didn't feel like they were hidden behind a veil anymore. I could feel them and pull them apart. If my head didn't hurt so bad and my body didn't feel so weak, I might be able to organize them a little better.

"I didn't want to," I repeated.

"But you did." He didn't ask. He just confirmed it. "I'm still here. Your family. They're all okay," he said. "It wasn't real." I took a deep breath to work passed the lump in my throat, and he let me go. My hand felt cold now that he'd released me. I pulled it back into my lap and picked at the bandages. He turned back to the front but didn't start the car.

"The last time we saw each other. For real. When was that?" I questioned.

"I took you to Russell. They pushed you over the balcony. I let them take you. He said I would regret it. He was right."

"No," I said, sitting back up straight. The seatbelt held me down, and I felt a panic flutter in my heart again. "That can't be right. You did come back for me. You got me out. We were—in Ohio. I remember." He turned back to me to stop me from trying to get out of the car again. This time both of his hands wrapped around both of my wrists, and I froze. He leaned over the center console and tried to get me to look him in the eye.

"Jo," he said. "Jo, look at me." I couldn't. I looked out of the windows at the darkness around us. I could see the darkened silhouettes of trees and twinkling lights between them. Like a distant town or city. "Please?"

I did what he asked. I turned back to him and studied his face. I knew that face. And not just because it had been haunting my nightmares, but because I'd wanted to know his face. Not because I was being forced to see him and the damage they'd made him do, but because I used to look at him and never wanted to forget him. I remembered every line and every curve. Even though his eyebrows were knitted and his jaw was tight, I knew what he looked like when he smiled and the way his eyes shined when the sun shone through strips of light.

He took my hand again and returned it to the place above his heart so that I could feel it beating. Blood had caked to the side of his face, but he'd tucked his hair behind his ear. There was a softness in his eyes that I hadn't seen in a long time. Something warm and real.

"Whatever they made you see," he said. "It wasn't real. The last time I saw you, you were lying on the hood of a car. Whatever happened after that—it wasn't real."

"This is," I stated. He nodded and his jaw unclenched.

"Yes. This is real. I'm not going to hurt you. I didn't kill anyone." I shook my head. I could feel my own heart beating much quicker than his.

"They can still make you. They can control you. They told me how they're going to do it." His jaw clenched again, and he pinched his lips. His eyebrows creased, but his eyes were still soft as he focused on me.

"They can," he agreed. "And that's why we have to get away. To make sure they won't."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"I think you should go back to Stark." I shook my head again, my fingers involuntarily flexed and squeezed his shirt in my fists.

"No, no. I can't go back to Stark. Not to New York."

"Why not?"

"Because I'll kill them."

"You didn't kill me. You had the chance, and you didn't take it."

"It's different with you. They wanted me to kill you differently."

"How?"

"I don't know."

He moved his hand off of mine and touched his fingers to my chin. It felt strange to be touched like that again. The only time I ever felt affection anymore was when she wanted me to believe he was real, right before he murdered all the people I loved. But she hadn't got it right. The expression on his face was different. He touched me, but he was closed off and guarded. As if he was afraid of overstepping a boundary.

"What do you remember from DC? Before they came for you?" he asked. I shook my head slowly. My fingers were still clenched in his shirt, but he didn't seem bothered by it.

"I don't know. I don't know what's real and what isn't. There's just—so much," I explained.

"Do you remember when we were in your kitchen and I told you that they were going to try and make you kill me? You made me promise not to let you?" I nodded.

"I think so."

"I didn't lie. I didn't fight back because I trusted that you wouldn't do it."

"What if I did?"

"You didn't." He moved back, and I released the front of his shirt. "I trusted you. I still do," he told me. He sat back in his seat and got the car moving again. I rested my head on the window and pulled my arms to myself.

"I wouldn't," I said. The radio on the dashboard had gone silent, and now all I could hear was the hum of the engine and the shallow breaths of the man in the backseat. He never answered.

* * *

New update day is on Thursdays.

Jo's thought processes is becoming less chaotic. *phew*


	5. Chapter 5

I didn't move for a long time, but I couldn't get my eyes to stay closed. Every time the rocking of the quiet car made me drift off, I would see that same living darkness that would suck the life out of the people around me. I'd jolt and wake up, and Bucky would do nothing but glance at me to make sure I was okay and not going to swing at him again.

We didn't speak. Sometimes he would stop the car to give me more water or more chunks of the chalky protein bar. Every so often he'd reach around the back and poke at Russell just to make sure he was okay or ask for directions. Eventually, he concluded that I wasn't going to overdo it with the water or the food and set them both on my lap. He didn't take his eyes off the road after that.

The sun was beginning to rise when we reached a dirt road. It seemed to wind on forever and there was nothing to look at for a long time but the trees on either side of us. When we finally reached the clearing at the end, it was morning.

Russell sent us to a small farm. The house itself sat far off the main road and was surrounded by wandering animals. Dogs barked as Bucky turned the car, and several goats bounded around the side of the house. Bucky brought us right to the house, scaring a bunch of chickens before we came to a halt.

"Let me go first," he said as he reached for the handle and stepped out.

I just wanted to get out and help Russell. My head still hurt, and my body still felt weak. I hadn't stood on my feet for a while, so I wasn't sure if I was capable of holding myself up. But I couldn't sit still and wait for him to make sure we were clear. So I unbuckled my seatbelt and moved to climb out. But Bucky had his back to me, and he wasn't moving. He stood in front of me as if he was blocking me. So I peeked around him to see what he was looking at.

A woman was standing no more than a few feet away from him. She had an old rifle pointed at his chest. The expression on her face told me she wasn't accustomed to visitors. If she knew who he was, she probably would have already fired.

I popped the door open and stepped out onto the hard frozen dirt. The wounds on my feet stung and my legs wobbled. I probably looked like a mess with blood caked in my hair and stuck to my face. I was wearing a tank top, so my scarred shoulders were exposed and visible.

The woman immediately cut her gray eyes to me. She was barefoot like I was, but dressed for hard work. We must have caught her by surprise. She moved the barrel of the gun in my direction, but Bucky quickly stepped to the side to block me from her. He held his hand out as if he'd have to stop me from moving around him.

It was getting easier to sort out the difference between what memories were real and what weren't. There was some clarity to some memories that I couldn't find in others. I was almost confident that I had done that before. Walked around him when he tried to block me. So I guess he had every reason to try and stop me from doing it again.

When she opened her mouth to speak, I couldn't understand the language. But Bucky apparently did and had no problem slipping into the same tongue to answer. She kept her eyes on him and didn't even glance at me when I peeked over his shoulder. She also didn't lower the weapon.

"Dana," I heard a voice croak from the open car door behind me. I could hear him tap his knuckles on the glass, so I turned and yanked the back door open. I hopped in at his side so she could see him and I could make sure he was okay.

"Ivan?" she asked. She finally lowered the gun and took a step to the side to see into the backseat.

"They're with me," he explained. "You can trust them. Both of them."

"He needs help," I told her now that I knew she understood English. She nodded quickly and gave Bucky another skeptical once over.

"Help me get him into the house," she demanded. "We'll put him in my room."

Bucky reached in and held his hand out to me. I reluctantly let him pull me out of the car, so I could get out of the way. I couldn't help much since I could barely stand, so I stood back and watched the two of them work to get Russell out of the car without causing him much pain. I was useless.

Another woman stepped out of the house while I watched them. The younger woman had to be in her late forties or early fifties, but the second woman was much older. She had the same gray eyes, but while the younger woman's hair was light brown and almost blonde, hers had faded into a dusty color that must have been the same shade at some point. She looked us all over before her gaze turned back to me.

"Dziaŭčyna," she said, motioning to me. "Come."

"Go," Bucky told me as he hoisted Russell up under his arms. "We have it under control."

I wanted to help. It was my fault, but there was nothing I could do anyway. I could barely stand, let alone try to carry someone. So I carefully held onto the rail and walked up the steps toward the strange woman. She immediately pulled me to her. She lifted my hands and looked me up and down like she was studying me. Her mouth was pinched as she examined the scars and then moved down my arms to where she had my wrists locked in her hands.

"Mm," she said. "Bones." Then she put her hand on my shoulder and gently nudged me toward the door. "Come."

The front door opened to a small kitchen. There was a room connected to it on the right. She flicked the light on and dragged me into it. Then she got to work pulling back the covers of the bed. I jumped in to help her make room for Russell. I had to do something to help. Bucky and the other woman carried him through the door once we were finished pulling the sheets back. He was awake, biting his lip and trying very hard not to scream.

"When did this happen?" the woman asked. Russell called her Dana.

"Yesterday," Bucky explained.

"What happened?" His eyes had found mine before he got Russell onto the bed. He never answered. Just took a step back as Russell twisted in agony on the bed. I jumped to his side and pulled at the jacket tied around his waist. Dana propped pillows beneath him and tried to help him get comfortable.

"Don't worry about me," he said through clenched teeth. "She hasn't eaten. She was bleeding." Dana turned her eyes on me.

"I'm all right," I told her.

"You don't look good. Where were you bleeding?" she asked. I shook my head.

"I don't know. But I wasn't shot in the stomach either. So I'll be fine."

"Johanna," the older woman said. She was standing by the door now, twisting her fingers in front of her and staring at me with wide gray eyes.

"How do you know my name?" I asked. She tapped the side of her head like she was letting me in on a secret.

"I know."

"She doesn't speak very much English. She knows individual words, but has trouble with longer sentences," Dana told me as she pulled the sheets up over Russell's legs. He was dressed like I was. Simple clothes almost like pajamas. No shoes. "We knew Ivan when he was young." I went back to work, yanking his shirt up so I could examine the entry wound.

"I need towels," I told Dana. "All the medical supplies you have. Sewing supplies too. The environment isn't sterile, but it'll have to do. Has it been twenty-four hours?" I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. I need to see how bad it is. It was close range. Through and through?" I glanced at Bucky, and he nodded once. I took a deep breath.

"Let me do it," Dana suggested.

"No," I snapped. I didn't want anyone else to touch him. I didn't know these women, and I didn't know if they'd be able to do it right. It was my fault. I had to fix it. Bucky was right. I was the expert. Those memories were real. The instincts were real. I could do it. "I'm fine. I'm trained for this."

"My fingers aren't shaking and covered in dirt and blood and scratches," she protested. I finally looked down at my hands. I hadn't paid much attention to them before, but she was right. My fingers were still trembling and weak. And they were disgusting. Scratches scattered my skin and the bandages around my palms were frayed and hardened with dried blood and dirt. My nails looked broken and caked with dirt.

"Just let me clean up. I can do it."

"It's fine, Jo," Russell said. "I trust them. I'll walk them through anything they don't already know." I looked back up at him. He was propped against the pillows now. His salt and pepper hair was messy. He looked older and thinner than I remembered. There were dark circles under his eyes.

"I don't. I don't even know who they are."

"I've known them a lot longer than I've known you. I trust them with my life. I trust them with yours. Which is saying a lot because you know I like you more than me. Go get cleaned up. Get some rest. You've been through a lot."

"I can do it."

"If you go anywhere near him with anything remotely sharp you're going to shred through him like tissue paper," Bucky remarked.

He was standing across the bed by Dana now, watching me trying to reason with them. I sent him a glare. I didn't care that my hands were shaking and I felt like I could barely move. I couldn't stand back and do nothing. Not when I had the ability to fix my mistake. At least thinking about medical procedures helped me keep my mind straight and narrow.

"Look," he said with a softer tone. "I know you're good at what you do. But now is not the right time. He doesn't have enough time to wait for you to recover and you might do more harm than good. They wouldn't let you do an invasive operation with shaking hands. You know that."

I sighed and gripped the blanket. He was right. I was too weak. Too shaky. I probably wouldn't even stay awake long enough to do a good job. Even without dirty hands that wouldn't stop trembling.

"I can walk them through what to do," I argued anyway.

"We will."

"You said I was the expert. Russell will pass out. He won't be able to tell them what to do."

"Ivan," he said from the bed. "You know I hate when you call me that."

"I can do it," Dana assured me. "Trust me. It wouldn't be the first time." Bucky moved around the bed and gently put his hand on my arm. I looked up at him, begging him not to make me leave. But he gave me the same sad expression.

"Please, Jo?" he said. "It's for the best."

"But it's my fault," I replied.

"It's not your fault. They'll do everything they can. Let me help you." I looked back at Russell—Ivan—and he gave me a reassuring smile.

"Go," he said. "It'll be a cakewalk." I sighed heavily and Bucky seemed to realize I was giving in. His hand was warm on my arm and it was keeping the panic from rising in my chest again. He helped me onto my feet and then wrapped an arm around me when I wobbled.

"I'll do whatever I can," Dana assured me as I walked tenderly to the door. The old woman reached out for me again, but I didn't make it very far before my knees wobbled again and I slipped. Bucky quickly scooped me into his arms, and she led us back out into the kitchen. I rested my head against his chest so I could hear the sound of his heart beating.

* * *

I meant to update this sooner in the week but I got sad about stuff and then didn't. So there's that.

Anyway, happy holidays, my friends. This year I received the gift of a brand new niece, who also happens to be very squishy and very cute.


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky carried me up the stairs after the old woman. She led us into another empty bedroom right off of the stairs, and he sat me down on the bed as she shuffled around the room speaking to him and fluffing up pillows. I still couldn't understand her, but Bucky followed her movements even though he stuck so close to me that I could feel the heat of his legs. His shoulders were tense as if he hadn't decided if he trusted them yet, but also like he was trying very hard not to appear that way to her.

"We're married," he whispered from the corner of his mouth as she went to the other side of the small room to look for something.

"We're what?" I replied. I felt my heart jump in panic again. I was either missing a very vital memory, or something was off.

"Russell said it's the only way she'll let us share a room. And I'm not leaving you." I relaxed and pinched my lips. I was glad I hadn't forgotten something so important. But I couldn't argue with him since I didn't know how much she could understand. And truth be told, I didn't want to be alone. So I'd go along with it.

She said a few more words as she returned to us. Then she stuffed a few extra blankets in his hands and gave me a smile. He waited for her to leave before he relaxed. He stood by the door listening to make sure she was far enough away and then the tension drained from his shoulders.

"The bathroom is across the hall," he explained as he dropped the blankets on the bed beside me. This bedroom didn't seem to be as used as the other one. More like it was a guest room. It was bare of personal belongings. The only furniture aside from the bed was a trunk, an armchair under the window, and a small table beside the bed. "I'll help you clean up and then I'll find you something to eat." He pulled his backpack off and dumped it on the floor next to the chair.

"Alright," I said.

I wanted to pull my feet up and wrap my arms around my knees. It was how I comforted myself and kept myself warm. It felt like a reflex now. But my feet looked worse than my hands, and I didn't want to get dirt and dried blood all over the clean bedspread. So I just stared down at my lap and tried to focus on what was important. If this was real—I needed to know a few things. If it wasn't, then I just wanted the girl to hurry the hell up and get on with it.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked.

"Ask as many as you need to," he replied. He was kneeling on the floor with his back to me now. Putting himself in a vulnerable position. I figured he was doing it on purpose. He was testing me. Seeing if I would take that chance to attack him again.

"How'd you get me out?"

"I've been scanning the airwaves nonstop. Hydra's information is encrypted. Not easy to get through. But I was hoping to at least get something to tell me where you were being kept. Give me an idea about how to get in and get you out. Finally picked up a signal that made sense. Russell's code. He gave me a transfer route and time. I followed instructions."

"It could have been a trap."

"I was expecting it to be a trap. I'm still surprised we made it this far."

"You said there were scouts."

"They always have scouts in front and behind a caravan of that size. Just in case there's an interception."

"They tranquilized me first. Why?"

"I'm only a threat at close range, and I was unarmed. You were a bigger threat. Not because you had the gun." My chest felt heavy again, and I had to shove the pain back down into the darkness before I could find words. I didn't want him to see that it hurt. I'd done enough damage already.

"What happened to the people who were transferring me?" I asked then. He was still digging through his backpack. I didn't know if he was actually looking for something, or just trying to give me space while also testing my ability to resist attacking him. Finally, he just sighed and didn't move.

"I think you know," he replied.

"I didn't see."

"But you know."

"What they did to me—when it happens—my mind shuts down. It's like I'm stuck somewhere in the dark. But the darkness is alive. It moves, and it thinks. And then I don't know who I am or where I am. And it takes a while for me to get myself back."

"I noticed."

"Did I kill all of them?"

"Everyone except for Russell. Which means some part of you—can control it."

"But I shot him. So it won't matter. What if he dies?"

"We just have to hope that he doesn't. He's still awake. That's a good sign. He lost a lot of blood, but I don't think it hit anything important. He should be able to recover." I slumped and tried to dislodge the lump in my throat. He was far more forgiving than I deserved. Especially since I initially aimed the gun at his head. The only reason I didn't pull the trigger was because Russell distracted me.

"How long has it been since they took me?" I asked. He went back to his backpack, and I couldn't see what he was doing.

"Two months," he said.

"Two months? And that was when I…"

"When you were thrown off a balcony," he confirmed.

I looked back down at my dirty legs. That couldn't be right. It didn't make any sense. It took me months to recover from a shattered shoulder. And it still never really healed all the way. Whatever I'd done to my body when I fell—it had to be just as bad. If not worse. Unless it wasn't as bad as I thought. Unless it just wasn't real.

But I couldn't think about it for very long. He stood up again and tossed a shirt over his shoulder.

"I'll help you get to the bathroom," he said.

Then he scooped me back up into his arms, and I didn't try to fight him. It didn't make any sense, but his heartbeat was strong and even and for that brief moment that I was in his arms from the bedroom to the bathroom, I felt safe and calm.

But then he was sitting me down on the edge of a bathtub, and I was forced to deal with the present again. I moved to the other side so I could watch him while I cleaned up. I didn't think that having my back to him would make me vulnerable. But I didn't like not being able to see him. He set the shirt down on the edge of the tub so I could grab it when I was done.

"It's clean," he told me. Then he turned on the water and went to find me a towel. I watched him while I waited for the water to heat up. Once he located a towel, he went to the sink and began to clean the blood off of his face.

"Can you tell me something else?" I asked as I got to work scrubbing the dirt off of my bare legs.

"You don't have to ask me if you can ask," he replied, not looking at me.

"If that was really the last time—where's Graham?" He took a long time to answer, and every second that ticked by made my heart race faster and faster. I couldn't move until he spoke again.

"You remember Graham?"

"I think I remember almost everything now." I wasn't just talking about what had happened between us in the past year. But everything before then too. I remembered his face more clearly now. Standing on the other side of a courtyard seconds before shooting me in the shoulder. And that time, he hadn't shot me to save my life.

"He was shot," he started. "I don't know when it happened. Sometime after you fell. He was in bad shape."

"Where was the wound?"

"Upper chest. Right side. Under his shoulder. Through and through."

"What happened after I left?"

"I got him into a car and drove him to a hospital. He was conscious for the first fifteen minutes. Kept telling me to leave him and go back for you."

"You didn't."

"Believe me, I wanted to."

"Why didn't you?" I knew how he felt about Graham and I was almost positive he was going to tell me he hadn't left him behind just because he knew I wouldn't want that.

"He was just a kid," he said instead. "A kid with a mouth, but just a kid."

"And you trust him now?"

"I was wrong. It's not easy for me to trust people. I didn't trust you at first either. If you remember that much." I nodded slowly and pulled the bandages off of my feet. The water was already dark with dirt and blood, but it felt warm and soothing against my skin. I couldn't remember even bathing the entire time I was there. But there were a lot of pieces still missing. At least from that period.

"You're speaking about him in the past tense. What happened to him?" I continued.

"I'm not speaking about him in the past tense. I got him to a hospital, ditched the car, and went back to try and pick up your trail. I didn't stick around to see how he was, but I've been scanning newspapers, and I haven't come across any obituaries," he explained. "If the wound were fatal it would have made the news."

I watched him dab at the wounds on his face with a washcloth. I must have hit him pretty hard if I'd made him bleed like that. It was just a stick. A branch, and a relatively large and heavy one, but still just a stick.

"He was still breathing?"

"When I saw him last, yes."

"And you couldn't go back and check on him?"

"I was trying to find you, Jo. The hospital wouldn't release information over the phone, and I don't have the names of his emergency contacts. I didn't have time to set anything up." He stepped away from the mirror and handed over another washcloth, but now I was busy picking at the bandages that were stuck to my palms. "I did the best I could," he told me. I nodded.

"I know. I just can't—sit here and do nothing. I need to be positive that he's okay. I need for him to know I'm okay too. Jesus, two months? It feels like forever ago but also feels like it was yesterday at the same time. How is that possible?"

"I know that feeling. Believe me." I had no doubt that he did. "But you're recovering a lot quicker than I expected. We'll figure it out. Right now the goal is just to keep you hidden and safe long enough to recover."

"And then you'll take me to Stark?" I took the washcloth, but he stayed where he was by the tub.

"We'll talk about it." I sighed slowly and lifted my hands.

"I can't get these off."

"Can I try?"

"It's in my blood." He stayed silent and looked me over. I hadn't even noticed that he'd taken off his glove and rolled up his sleeves. His metal arm was shiny and exposed.

"What's in your blood, Jo?" he asked slowly. I shook my head as I tried to pick apart the bits and pieces I did remember from the last two months.

"Russell said something about a pathogen. They wanted me because Beata made me a carrier. There were three phases. One I was born with. The second was activated when they had me the first time. I'm guessing the purpose of all this was to activate phase three. And since they were milking my blood like a fucking cow I'm going to assume it was a success. If it's a pathogen—It can spread."

"Do you remember what else they did?" I chewed on my lip.

"I remember enough," I told him. I looked down at my hands again. The gauze had glued to the palms of my hands. I didn't even remember why they were there. Russell said I tried to get out.

"I can't get sick, Jo," he reminded me.

"It's not the flu," I reminded him. "It was meant to be infallible. It does something—to the blood. The brain. You saw their bodies, didn't you?"

"I didn't stick around long enough to get a good look at them."

"They were transferring me because—I was a danger to everyone there. To those twins and whatever else they were planning."

"Russell said quarantine." I nodded.

"They wanted me to turn it on the Avengers. Most of them aren't ordinary humans. They're expecting it to be effective on all of them. It's not a flu virus. It's something strong enough to take down a Hulk and an Asgardian. A super-soldier serum will be nothing."

"Why didn't Russell get hit too?" I pinched my lips shut and looked back at my hands. "He was awake long enough for us to talk. He said he didn't get hit because you didn't want him to."

"There's a possibility that Beata made him immune. I don't know how it works. But I know I've tried to kill you twice since you picked me up. What makes you think I won't turn it on you?"

"Because we're having this conversation and you're capable of understanding what's happening and who I am. You didn't before. It took you a while."

"And if I lose control again?"

"When I found you, you were lying in a pool of your own blood. I had to carry your body over my shoulder so that I could help Russell get to the car. You think I didn't come into contact with your blood then?"

"What if I already infected you?" I questioned. He sensed the panic in my tone and knelt down by the tub. Then he reached out to grasp my wrist with his metal hand. He pulled it toward the running water.

"It happens quickly," he explained. "They were driving when it hit. Didn't seem to have a lot of time to deal with what was happening to them. If I was infected—I'd be dead."

"It could be slower for someone like you."

"Then it wouldn't be very useful to them against the Avengers, would it?" I didn't answer. He was making sense, but that didn't shake the dread I was feeling. "You just have to let the bandages soften," he said as he pulled my fingers open.

"I know, but it stings."

"Do you remember how it happened now?" I shook my head.

"I remember things from before more clearly. But—now it's like everything is hidden behind a veil. Like it's there. I just can't see it. Except for the—things she made me see."

"It might come back to you after a while. Might be better if it doesn't."

The bandages had come apart enough so that he could peel it off of my hand. Once he got it off, he ran his metal fingers over the healing gash that was slashed across my palm. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but enough blood had dried to my skin and the bandages to stain the water again.

"He said it was broken glass," he remarked as he examined it. "You were holding it in your hand. There was a force. Looks like you were using it as a weapon." He dragged his finger along the jagged gash to show me the direction of the movement.

"How can you tell?" I questioned.

"Shape of the wound. Tapers off at the end. Gash is deeper here because this is where it took most of the impact."

"I thought you said you weren't the expert." His eyebrows rose, and there was a hint of a smile before he masked it again.

"My job was to take lives, not save them. Doesn't mean I can't recognize injuries."

"I'm sorry—for what I said when I was—trying to hurt you." He shook his head and pulled my other hand toward the water. The bandages on that hand weren't as bad. The cuts weren't as deep.

"Don't be. You weren't yourself."

"I still shouldn't have said it. I know I was confused. But that doesn't make it okay."

"It doesn't matter. What you said was true. Even if I don't remember them. I wish that I did so I could say I was sorry. Not that it would make it okay." I opened my mouth to argue, but he put his hands on the edge of the tub and pushed himself to standing. "I'll meet you when you're done."

He turned to leave, but I had to stop him. I felt awful for what I said. It was true, but that didn't mean he wanted to do what he'd done. He didn't have to say he was sorry because I felt it. He hated himself for what he'd done. Even though he hadn't wanted to kill anyone. The Soldier, maybe. But not him.

"I don't want you to go," I said. He stopped by the door but didn't ask me to elaborate. "I'm not afraid of you. I know it wasn't really you. They wanted me to blame you. I don't think—they expected you to live long enough for me to think about what I was doing to you. I'm sorry that I let them get to me. I'm sorry that I hurt you."

"I'm sorry too," he said as he opened the door. "I'll find you something to eat." Then he disappeared out into the hall.


End file.
